


There Isn’t Any God

by damienkarras



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comic Klaus Hargreeves, F/M, Ghosts, tw anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 18:58:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damienkarras/pseuds/damienkarras
Summary: He can’t get them out of his head, no matter how hard he tries.





	There Isn’t Any God

He could feel them. Grasping, pulling, scratching at his skin. They were hungry, scared, their hoarse voices screaming in his ear to let them out, to free them. The voices were especially hard to forget at night, when he was alone and the closet door softly creaks, and then they’re at the foot of his bed, hissing and yelling and foaming at the mouth. 

His eyes are dark and his mind is foggy because it’s hard to sleep when they’re right beside you, digging sharp nails into your arm, begging. Everytime he closed his eyes he could only see the faces of the deceased lunging at him, shaking him and crying out his name. Sometimes he felt like scooping his eyeballs out or slamming his head against the wall.

When he left, he expected one of his siblings to help him. Maybe get him off his feet and offer a home, some money. But after a few days of lounging in a hotel bed, he realized that they didn’t care he was gone.  
That night, the spirits laughed at him.

His head is screaming, ripping itself apart. It’s tearing into two and he hates it, but it’s working. Memories of Shinyview hit him straight in the face and he’s down, only now noticing the hot embers on his skin that signal the world is ending.

He can remember the cold gun barrel pressed to his head as he pleaded and begged. Everything he’d ever done swirled around in his brain. He knows how much he cried, how much he yelled and screamed and panted, but none of that convinced them. He wanted them to keep him alive, and they didn’t.

On the vast open plains of Heaven, he doesn’t know what to feel. He’s not even sure he’s real or not, and when God comes up to him riding on a horse, tall and mighty and looking down on him, telling him nobody wants him, not even in death, he’s not sure he’s dead.

The only thing that kept the ghosts away besides his unhealthy coping mechanisms was her. The lovely, cherished woman who had taken him in and made him feel loved again. She’d taken all his broken parts and put them together, and now they were having a child, and Klaus realized he didn’t want to go back to Dallas. He wanted to stay here, his head in her lap, her voice soothing him to sleep.

Except when she died, his heart was ripped out of his chest and hung in front of him like some kind of joke, and all of the ghosts mocked him for being so silly, that he would never be able to find love without ruining it, and his heart was thrown in the mud.

“Nothing’s changed,” says Luther. But, oh, everything’s changed for poor Klaus Hargreeves, who finally got rid of what was wrong with him for a fleeting moment and then it came back again. He could try and forget but it was so hard, realizing he’d never have that love again, never see his child or her again. It tore into his chest, infected his brain, and if he didn’t have a little bit of self control he would’ve collapsed right there on the street.

In the graveyard, the ghosts circled him, laughing and mocking and screaming and shouting. His head hurt. His whole body was sore. The strong taste of whiskey was still present in his mouth.

There was a grave meant for him, though he could never die. He touched it with a cold hand, resting his head on it, and took a deep, shaky breath.

They were still there, they did not die.


End file.
